


Cognate- Bucky

by WanderingAlice



Series: Anagnorisis [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bullying, Gen, Major Illness, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-21 21:59:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1565510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WanderingAlice/pseuds/WanderingAlice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky's known Steve almost all his life</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cognate- Bucky

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a major series based off of the Winter Soldier, one that kicked the worst case of writer's block I've had in years. Cognate follows Steve and Bucky from the time they meet until the day Bucky leaves for the war. Part one is all from Bucky's view, while part 2 is the same story from Steve's point of view. It is not necessary to read both, or either, to understand the rest of the story, but events mentioned here will be referenced in part in later works in this series. 
> 
> For the most part, I've tried to keep it cannon-compliant with the films and the tie-in comics, but I've fudged the dates a little bit for when they meet. 
> 
> Please enjoy!

Bucky Barnes met Steve Rogers on a hot July day in Hell’s Kitchen. He’d been passing by Tenth Street when he heard a commotion coming from a side alley. _Jerks are at it again_ , he thought, frowning. Every day, it seemed, some local kids would band together to beat up the younger ones and steal their money. They never bothered Bucky, preferring to focus on the orphans from Eighth Avenue. Most of the time, the little kids would give in without much of a fight, but this time it seemed their victim had a bit more guts.

Sticking his head around the corner, Bucky saw a frail-looking blond kid pushing himself off the ground while the bullies surrounded him. He was coughing, something deep in his chest that didn’t sound healthy at all, but stubbornly refusing to back down. Looking at that shrimp, obviously outmatched, standing up for himself even though he must have known it would mean a beating, Bucky felt a little ashamed. Sure the kids were older, but Bucky’s dad had been giving him boxing lessons since he was old enough to put on the gloves, and he was pretty sure he was more than a match for those punks. They knew it too- probably one of the reasons they never bothered Bucky. But he’d never once even thought about putting a stop to this sort of thing, not until right at that moment, as the leader landed a punch on the blond kid’s jaw.

Bucky made a snap decision. Three on two wasn’t great odds, but it was better than the current three on one. He waded in swinging. The first punch startled them, but the bullies fought back when they saw he was just another little kid. They underestimated him, which allowed Bucky to get the upper hand, knocking the leader of the gang flat on his back. He didn’t see the guy with the brick sneaking up on him, but the blond boy hit him over the head with a garbage can lid. At that, the bullies broke and ran.

“Hah, bullies always run true to form- and I do mean _run_ ,” Bucky turned to the blond kid, who looked like a complete mess, blood oozing out his nose, black eye already starting to swell shut, breathing in labored gasps.

“I woulda worn them down eventually,” the kid said, as if he didn’t look ready to keel over at any second.

“Yeah,” Bucky scoffed, “when they died of old age.”

The kid seemed to take offense at that, forcing himself up straighter and showing Bucky his fists. “Maybe you wanna go a round or two?” The kid had guts, that was certain. Thankfully, all it took to calm him down was a quick joke and a compliment. They shook hands, and Bucky learned his new pal was called Steve Rogers.

“Good to know you, kid. James Buchanan Barnes. My friends call me Bucky.”

 

Bucky took Steve home with him, despite the kid’s protests. His mom was in the kitchen when they walked in, and turned towards Bucky with a smile- a smile that quickly fell when she saw the state they were in. “Oh, Bucky,” she sighed in that ‘disappointed mom’ way that  always made him want to crawl under a rock. “What happened?”

“It wasn’t my fault, mom!” Bucky protested. “Those bullies on Tenth were beating up Steve!”

“Were they?” his mom said, grabbing a rag and putting some sort of stuff on it from a bottle. She looked them both over, then knelt down by Steve and started dabbing at his cuts.

“Yes ma’am,” Steve agreed, wincing as whatever was on the cloth stung. “They’ve been taking our money for weeks now. I couldn’t let ‘em get away with it!”

“Hmm,” Bucky’s mom shot her son a look.

“It’s true, Mom! They’ve been stealing the pocket change of all the kids from the Eighth Avenue orphanage whenever they try to cross Tenth.”

“Bucky stopped ‘em from beating me up like they did Kevin last week. I could’a taken them by myself, but it was great to have some help.” Steve tried to stare defiantly at Bucky’s mom, but the look was ruined when she put the cloth over one of the deeper cuts and he let out a small gasp of pain.

“Stay still,” she told him, placing her free hand on his shoulder. “It’ll hurt more if you don’t.”

“Yes ma’am,” Steve obviously tried to follow her orders, but couldn’t keep from whimpering as she cleaned his face. Bucky wrapped an arm around his shoulders and was surprised by just how thin and frail Steve felt.

“Hey, what happened to that brave punk in the alley? You goanna let a little bit of cloth beat you?”

“No!” Steve said, adamantly, and after that he bore with the treatment in silence.

“There, all done,” Bucky’s mom said at last, going to the icebox and returning with a bag of peas. “Here, put this on that eye, it’ll keep the swelling down.” She turned to Bucky. “Now, my son, your turn.” Cleaning up Bucky’s face took a lot less time, as he’d only managed to collect one or two bruises and only one significant cut. Steve stuck to his side like a barnacle, one hand wrapped around his shoulders, the other holding the bag of peas to his face. Neither boy knew it, but that was about to become a common sight in the Barnes household.

After getting them cleaned up, Bucky’s mom made them sit at the table while she went to go get them both a change of clothes. Bucky and Steve sat in silence for a while, before Steve looked at Bucky and said, in an awed voice, “You have a _refrigerator_!”

Bucky grinned. “Yup, first one in the neighborhood. Dad bought it last month.”

“Wow! Neat! Does that mean you get cold soda whenever you want?”

“No,” Bucky shook his head, looking crestfallen. “Mom says it’ll rot my teeth, so mostly I have to drink milk.”

Steve shrugged. “Milk’s good. Means you’ll have strong bones. That’s what the nuns say anyway. Don’t think it really works though, or I’d be as strong as you!”

“Uh-huh.” Bucky wasn’t impressed. “Or maybe if you didn’t drink milk you’d have no bones at all!”

“Jerk.”

“Punk.”

They both broke out laughing, and were still laughing when Bucky’s mom came back with two sets of clothes. The ones for Steve were Bucky’s old clothes from three years ago, but they still hung off the shrimp like they were still on the clothesline. Bucky’s mom fussed and made noises over how _thin_ he was, and Steve ended up staying for dinner, where both Bucky’s parents tried to force extra helpings of food down his throat.

One thing led to another, and soon Steve stayed over at Bucky’s more often than he did the orphanage. Bucky’s dad started including Steve in on the boxing lessons (for as long as Steve could keep up. Sometimes he would start gasping for breath, and Bucky would make him sit out the rest of the day- terrified that if he kept up, he wouldn’t be able to breathe.) and Bucky’s mom made him a whole new set of clothes- ones that fit far better than the hand-me-downs the nuns had given him. The pair became nearly inseparable, and the bullies that had picked on Steve before soon learned he had a staunch protector in Bucky. In return, Steve started giving Bucky art lessons- art being one of the few things Steve could do better than Bucky.

Bucky loved to watch Steve draw. They’d spend hours in the park, Steve drawing whatever came to mind. Sometimes Bucky would play ball with the other boys, or run around chasing the girls, but more often he could be found at Steve’s side, watching his hands as each stroke of the pencil brought an image more to life. Bucky tried to draw like Steve, even asking his mom to send him for extra art lessons, but he never could seem to match the lifelike beauty of Steve’s sketches.

“You’re goanna be famous one day,” Bucky told Steve on an afternoon in the park, about a year after they first met. “Yep,” he nodded and smiled at Steve’s disbelieving look. “You’re going to have art in every museum around the world. People will be lining up to look at your pictures. And I’ll be able to say ‘I knew him when he was just some punk from Brooklyn.’”

“Aw, come on, Bucky, that ain’t goanna happen,” Steve protested. Bucky punched him lightly on the shoulder, and Steve winced and made a face.

“Of course it will. And I’ll be your agent, selling your art and scheduling appearances.”

“Really?” Steve flashed him that smile, the one Bucky never saw him give to anyone else.

“’Course I will. I’m with you to the end of the line, ain’t nobody goanna separate us!”

 

The first time Steve really frightened Bucky came shortly after that. He’d gone to pick his friend up from the orphanage, only to be told that Steve couldn’t come out- he was sick in bed with a fever.

Bucky tried to get in anyway, climbing in a back window. No way was some nun in a penguin suit goanna keep him from his best friend when he was sick. He managed to make it in ok, and snuck through the halls until he was close to Steve’s room. He was almost there when he heard someone coming, and was forced to duck into an open office. There, he hid behind the desk, which was lucky because a nun came in after him, accompanied by a doctor.

“I’m afraid I have some bad news,” the doctor said. Bucky held his breath. Was this about Steve?

“What is it, Doctor? Will he be ok?” The nun sounded worried.

“I’m afraid your young man is very sick. Best I can tell, it’s a very strong case of Scarlet Fever. It’s curable, but because of his overall health he’s going to need a lot of medicine.” There was a rustling of papers as the doctor handed something to the nun.

“This is… I’m afraid we might not have the money to afford these, not with all the other children getting sick, and the normal medicines. Isn’t there anything else you can do?” The nun choked back a sob.

“I’m sorry,” the doctor said, “but what he needs is this medicine. You can try the usual bed rest and fluids, but with his immune system…” Bucky may have only been nine, but he could tell when adults weren’t saying something. The doctor was really worried.

“I see. Thank you doctor.” The nun escorted the doctor out of the room. Bucky didn’t wait more than a few minutes until he was back out the window, and he ran all the way home and got his mother.

Ms. Barnes listened to Bucky’s story and nodded, tight-lipped. She told Bucky to wait, and went into another room to call her husband. Bucky fidgeted, straightening up the piles of Steve’s and his sketchbooks that were stacked on the kitchen table. When his mom came back, she smiled at him and knelt down to his level. “Hey, Buck, how would you like to have a brother?”

“You’re going to adopt Steve?!” Bucky almost shouted, and watched his mom try to keep a straight face.

“Only if you say it’s ok. We’ll take care of Steve until he gets better, regardless, but he’s here all the time anyway. Don’t you think it would be better if he didn’t have to go back to the orphanage?”

“Of course!” Bucky couldn’t believe it- Steve was going to be his brother! “Can he share my room? I mean, he stays there with me all the time anyway, and-“

Bucky’s mom put a hand on his shoulder. “Sure, honey, but not right away. If he does have Scarlet Fever, then we’ll need to be very careful. You’re going to have to wear a mask around the house until he gets better, and he’ll need to stay in bed for a while.”

“Sure, that’s fine,” Bucky understood- Steve was sick, and he needed space to get better. “Can we go get him now?”

In the end, it took a little more than just Mr. and Ms. Barnes coming to the orphanage to get Steve. Bucky didn’t really understand the whole process, he just knew it took way too long before Steve was ensconced in his own bed in Bucky’s house, with papers that said he’d never have to go back to the orphanage as long as Bucky’s parents were around. His mom (their mom, now) wouldn’t allow Bucky to go see Steve for the first couple days, insisting that he needed quiet to get better. Finally, after days of endless asking, he was allowed in.

“Hey, Bucky,” Steve smiled weakly up at him from the bed.

“Hi Steve.” Bucky climbed into the chair next to Steve’s bed. “Mom says I can’t stay long, but I haven’t seen you in _ages_.”

Steve laughed, a weak rumbly thing that turned into a cough. Alarmed, Bucky grabbed the glass of water from the bedside, pressing it into Steve’s hands.

“Thanks,” Steve said, when the coughing had subsided. “Doc says I’ll be back to normal in a few weeks. It’s only this bad ‘cause my immune system’s so weak- I catch anything. And it hasn’t been ages, Bucky, it’s only been like a week.”

“A week and a _half_ ,” Bucky insisted. “They said you were too sick for me to come see you. I thought you were goanna die!”

“I’m not goanna die, Buck. I’ve been sicker’n this before,” Steve told him. The thought frightened Bucky.

“Well, you can’t get sick like this again. We’re goanna take care a’ you now.”

Steve seemed embarrassed by that, and they sat in silence for a little while. Bucky watched Steve draw, the sketchbook on his lap, careful to avoid getting charcoal on the white sheets. Under his hands, the room took shape, looking exactly as it did from where Steve was sitting. The window, the dresser, the wallpaper, even the painting hanging on the wall.

“Do you like it?” Bucky asked at last, uncomfortable with the silence that was only broken by Steve’s rattling breaths.

“Hmm?” Steve looked up at him, then back at the drawing Bucky was looking at.

“The room,” Bucky said. “Mom said you could stay in here after you get better, or you could… if you wanted… you could share my room.” It hadn’t occurred to him until right that minute that Steve maybe didn’t want to share a room with him. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to be adopted at all.

“Yeah, I like it,” Steve smiled, “but I get kinda lonely at night. I’m used to having other people around, y’know? So, maybe I could share with you. I mean, if that’s what you want.”

“Yeah! It’ll be great! We can push our beds together and make forts out of the sheets! Just… you don’t snore, do you?” Bucky’s dad snored, and it was annoying.

Steve made a face at him. “No, I don’t snore. Jerk.”

“All right, all right,” Bucky held his hands up in mock surrender, “just asking. Punk.”

 

By the next week, Steve was almost entirely better. Bucky was allowed to spend most of the day with him, which made him feel better. If he could keep an eye on Steve, at least he could be certain he wasn’t getting worse. He still had a frightening cough, and complained of a headache constantly, but the rash was fading at last. Bucky thought maybe his fingers looked a little swollen around the joints, but figured that was just another symptom of the Scarlet Fever.

Steve drew a lot while he was sick. He filled up two entire sketchbooks while Bucky watched, fascinated. After Bucky’s second visit, Steve asked if he could draw him. Pretty soon, half of Steve’s drawings were of Bucky or his (their) parents. Unfortunately, it was just the calm before the storm.

 

Steve was drawing (but when was he not?) when it started. In the middle of drawing Bucky’s arm his hand jerked, leaving a dark smudge across the page.

“Steve?” Bucky asked, trying not to move from where Steve had positioned him.

“Sorry Buck, I don’t-” Steve’s hand jerked again, this time smearing charcoal across the picture of Bucky’s face. 

“Steve!” Bucky dropped the pose and rushed to his friend’s side. He took Steve’s hand, noting a strange series of hard lumps on the back of his wrist before it jerked again, pulling free to smack Steve in the face. Blood started to trickle down from Steve’s nose, and his feet started jerking too.

“Bucky!” Steve’s eyes were wide and frightened, unable to stop as his hands and feet jerked in a grotesque parody of dance. Bucky grabbed for his hands again, only to miss as they twitched out of his reach. Steve’s face screwed up in a grimace.

“You’ll be ok, Steve,” Bucky promised, jumping down from the bed. He ran for his mom.

 

“I’m afraid it’s Rheumatic Fever,” the doctor told them, closing the door to Steve’s room. “It can sometimes develop after an infection like Scarlet Fever. I can prescribe medicine for him, but with his immune system, and especially since he hasn’t quite recovered from the Scarlet Fever, I wouldn’t expect him to survive this.”

“No!” Bucky shouted, causing his parents and the doctor to look at him in shock. “He’ll be ok. He has to be!”

The doctor knelt down to be on level with Bucky. “I won’t lie to you, boy, it’s not likely. I’m surprised he survived the Scarlet Fever at all. His body can’t fight off infection like yours can. You should start preparing yourself for the worst. I’ve seen cases like his before. They almost always die.”

“Steve won’t,” Bucky said, because it was _true_. Steve wasn’t going to die, not from this. “He’ll fight, you’ll see!”

“What can you do for him, doctor?” Bucky’s mom asked, putting a hand on Bucky’s shoulder.  She wasn’t going to let Steve die, no way.

“I can give him medicines to reduce the swelling in his joints, and something to help his heart withstand the disease. Aspirin mostly, though we’ll need to be careful with how much he takes.” Bucky tuned out the rest of the medical talk. It seemed like Steve would have to take an awful lot of pills, but if they helped him get better, then that was alright. With the adults distracted, Bucky slipped past the doctor, and into Steve’s room.

“Hey Steve,” Bucky pulled his chair up next to his friend.

“Hey Bucky,” Steve said weakly. “Doc says I’m real sick. Guess I might not make it this time.”

“What are you talking about?” Bucky demanded, “You’ll be fine. Doc’s giving Mom and Dad medicine for you to take now. He says you’ll be all better soon.”

“Liar,” Steve said, smiling a little. It seemed the odd jerking of his hands and feet had stilled for the moment, but he looked worn out. “I heard him say I was goanna die. It’s okay, really. The doctors told Mom when I was born that I probably wouldn’t live past three. I made it to eight, at least. That’s something.”

“Don’t talk like that!” Bucky growled, refusing to accept the possibility Steve could die. “You’re not goanna leave me here on my own, are ya? Who would make me stand up to the bullies, if not for you?”

“You’d do it anyway,” Steve said, and it broke Bucky’s heart a little how unshakeable his friend’s faith in him was.

“No I wouldn’t. And I wouldn’t have anyone to make me be nice to girls, or- or to stop me from getting mad when old Mr. Alexander down the street chases us off his yard. Who’d go to the cinema with me, or the soda fountain? Nobody else’ll give me half their ice-cream to finish. And we still haven’t gone to that baseball game you promised we’d go to. So don’t you go giving up on me!” By that point, Bucky was crying. He was scared, more scared than he’d ever been, and all he wanted was for someone to come in and make it okay.

“Hey,” Steve reached out a hand and rested it on Bucky’s arm. “Okay. I- I’ll try to get better. I promise.”

“Good,” Bucky nodded. If he knew one thing, it was that Steve’s promises were never broken.

 

Steve was moved to the hospital shortly after the doctor’s visit. Bucky went with him. One of his parents was always there, so Bucky didn’t feel weird asking to stay through the night. The doctors and nurses looked at him a little sadly when they passed by, and Bucky could tell they didn’t think Steve would make it. That was why it was so important for him to stay- somebody had to be there to believe in Steve. If nobody did, then he wouldn’t believe in himself.

Steve got worse before he got better. His joints all swelled up, and he started to complain of stomach and chest pain. His heart almost gave out twice, and the jerking of his hands and feet continued. His nose bled a lot, and sometimes he seemed to have trouble moving his muscles properly. Bucky stayed by his side through all of it, despite his parent’s attempts to limit his time in the sickroom. After the first time Steve’s heart almost gave out, a doctor showed Bucky how to take his pulse. Bucky started laying in the bed beside him, one hand around Steve’s wrist. His pulse was thin and thready most of the time, but as long as Bucky could feel it, he knew Steve was still alive.

Bucky couldn’t tell you how long he stayed at Steve’s bedside. It seemed like forever, ages of pills and exams, exhausting fits of what the doctors called Saint Vitus Dance, uncountable nosebleeds, long nights of Steve curled up in pain; before he finally started getting better. The doctors said it was a miracle, that no one had expected Steve to last a week, let alone start to recover. They warned them though, sometimes it looked like the patient was all better, and then he would get worse. Bucky didn’t believe them. Steve was getting better. He was going to come home soon.

At last, Steve was allowed to return home. He wasn’t one hundred percent better, but he was almost there. Bucky still refused to sleep anywhere else but Steve’s room, fingers pressed firmly against Steve’s pulse. His heart would always trouble him, the doctors said. Bucky heard them telling his mom she would have to watch Steve, to be sure his heart wouldn’t give out again. Bucky resolved to always be certain Steve’s heart was beating properly. He didn’t know how to fix it if it wasn’t, but at least he could tell. And knowing was always better than wondering.

One morning, shortly after Steve came home, Bucky woke to the sound of soft singing. He opened his eyes to see Steve, staring out the window, singing a hymn Bucky’s mom had sung to them the night before. His young voice was untrained, his breathing too rough to hold the longer notes, but it was still the best sound Bucky had ever heard. It was then that he was certain, everything was going to be alright.

 

Steve got sick a lot after that. The doctors diagnosed him with asthma, as well as heart palpitations or heart trouble, and high blood pressure. The fevers had practically ruined what was left of his immune system, Bucky thought, since it seemed like whenever someone coughed three streets away, Steve got sick. But Bucky didn’t mind. He just made sure that every night, he kept his hand on Steve’s pulse. And every morning, when he woke up to Steve singing, he knew everything was fine.

He didn’t stop getting into fights, either. Bucky pulled his ass out of some scrape or other almost every week. It was always the same- some big guy thought to make himself feel a little bigger by picking on someone littler than him. Sometimes that someone was Steve, often it was someone else, and Steve just felt he had to stand up for the victim. Sometimes people bullied Bucky, too, because of his friendship with Steve. Bucky never let Steve know that, though. He would have felt guilty, and Bucky didn’t want that. He never wanted Steve to feel bad at all. If he’d had his way, he’d fix Steve’s body so he could stand up for himself, and so he’d never be sick again. 

 

High school was hell. On that, Steve and Bucky agreed. For Steve, it was because he still got picked on. At fourteen years old, he was the shortest kid in the class. Years of expending all his energy in just staying alive hadn’t left much room for him to grow, so it was likely he would always be small. He still tried to stand up to the bullies, and he still got beat up for it. Bucky still defended him, and still agreed when Steve protested he could’ve done it himself.

For Bucky, it was hell because that was when the girls started noticing him. He’d grown, filled out, his voice had changed, and suddenly the dames were all over him. They’d whisper to each other as he walked by, throw longing glances in his wake. Steve teased him about it endlessly. And sure, the attention made him feel good, but he didn’t _really_ want to date any of ‘em. The thought of ‘going steady’ with a dame, like Ricky Buler was with his Jenny, made Bucky break out in a cold sweat. Girls were mysterious, weird, giggly creatures, and Bucky knew he was supposed to start dating and find one to settle down with. That was what you did, everyone said. You found a girl, you married her, and you had a family. Only Bucky didn’t want that. He wasn’t sure what he _did_ want, but it wasn’t that.

The girls kept chasing him, though. They’d leave little heart-shaped notes in his locker, or ask their friends to ask him what he thought of them, or any number of tricks. Steve found it hilarious.

“Stop laughing!” Bucky demanded, as Steve cracked up over the latest debacle- Leslie Jonson had cornered him on the way to the park after school, flirting shamelessly. She’d backed Bucky up against a tree, and was going in for a kiss when Steve showed up. The little bastard had been watching the whole thing, and only came to rescue his friend at the last minute.

“Sorry, Bucky. It’s just, it’s hilarious. You’ve always been the popular one, and now it’s caught up with you!”

“Screw you, punk,” Bucky said, making a rude gesture. Steve just laughed more, wheezing a little, until he started gasping. “Hey, careful!” Bucky grew alarmed, rushing over to wrap an arm around Steve. “Come on buddy, breathe with me, come on, there, that’s it,” Bucky coached him through the asthma attack, until he was breathing normally again.

“Well, that’s a first,” Steve said with a weak chuckle, “now you can tell Leslie you can’t date her because the thought of the two of you together sent me into an asthma attack!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky waved the suggestion away. “God, Steve, what am I goanna _do_?”

“About Leslie?” Steve shrugged, sinking to the ground under their usual tree.

“About all of them. They just keep… throwing themselves at me.” Bucky joined him, slumping down to rest his head on his knees.

“Well… you could try dating one,” Steve suggested.

“Yeah, but then she’d expect me to be serious, and I ain’t ready for that.” He wondered if he ever would be ready for that. An insidious part of his brain whispered _if Steve were a girl, maybe_ , but he pushed it down, deep, where he wouldn’t need to contemplate something that could ruin their friendship.

“Well, you could just keep it friendly, then. Take a girl out dancing, but let her know you’re not serious. Dancing’s supposed to be fun, so you’d get to do that, and the girls would get what _they_ want- a date with you. If you never date a girl more than once or twice, they’d all know you’re not looking yet, but you’d keep the dames happy. What do you think?”

“I think…” Bucky mulled it over. Steve’s suggestion was a good one. It would also solve the odd looks he got from the other guys sometimes, when they talked about the girls they were dating. “I think I’ll do it if you will.”

“Me?!” Steve was surprised. Bucky knew no girls had expressed interest in Steve yet, but they just hadn’t had time to see what a gem he really was. Sure he was scrawny and sickly, but he had the best heart Bucky had ever known.

“Yes, you. Who else would keep me company on these ‘dates’, huh?”

“Um, the girl…?” Steve was frowning at him now, Bucky could tell, even though he wasn’t looking.

“Nah, they don’t talk about much beyond dresses and lipstick,” Bucky said, mainly to rile Steve up.

“Bucky! Girls talk about a lot of things, like science or history, or- or art. Saying all they talk about is lipstick is like saying all guys talk about is sports. It’s demeaning.”

“Okay, okay, jeeze,” Bucky laughed, “I get it, girls can talk sensible too. But I still want you to come. You’re the one that knows how to talk to people. Between the two of us, we might even manage to be a good date.”

Steve snorted, and Bucky could hear his pencil sliding over his sketchbook. “So you want me to do the hard part, and get none of the reward, is that it?”

“Nah, Steve, that’s not what I meant!” Bucky stretched out under the tree, rolling on his side to look up at Steve’s face as he drew. “I mean we can do a double-date. You bring a girl, I bring a girl, we take ‘em out to dinner, maybe dancing, and have ourselves a good time.”

“I dunno, Buck. Girls aren’t exactly lining up to date me, now are they?” Steve’s forehead was creased, the way it got when he was thinking of something that worried him.

“So I’ll find the girl for you. All they gotta do is get to know you, and they’ll love you! You just have to give them the chance.”

“But… it don’t seem right, you’d be asking, so she’d think it’s a date with you. And then she’d see me, and… it’s like tricking her.”

“Nonsense,” Bucky hated it when Steve started to feel sorry for himself. It made him want to hit something- usually the people that had hurt Steve. In this case, there wasn’t anyone in particular to hit, and he couldn’t hit girls just on the principle that they didn’t look at Steve. He took his fury out on the grass, ripping up two fistfuls of it and watching it blow away on the wind. “I’ll make sure she knows it’s you. And if she doesn’t like you, then she’s not the right one, and isn’t that what we’re doing this _for_? Dating girls to see which one we might wanna settle down with someday? I bet you’ll get a real girlfriend before I do. I may be the looks of this operation, but you’re the heart.”

“Hmm,” Steve said, but the crease on his forehead was fading. Bucky watched him sketch in peace for a little while, before Steve spoke again. “Ok, I guess I can give it a try. But only ‘cause you asked.”

 

Their first date was a total disaster. Bucky had picked up a pair of best friends, both girls with long brown hair and dancing eyes. They’d seemed willing enough, at first, but when he arrived with Steve to pick them up, he could see the disappointment in the face of the girl who was supposed to be Steve’s date. Bucky couldn’t do anything about that without alerting Steve, so he let his anger simmer as she proceeded to ignore him and focus on Bucky. At the dance hall, the girl said she had a headache, choosing to sit out the dance instead of be seen dancing with a boy shorter than her. Finally, after two hours of the girl ignoring Steve and throwing herself at him, Bucky snapped.

“Look, you shouldn’t’a come on this date if you weren’t going to give him a chance,” he growled.

“Yeah, well, you shouldn’t’a asked me to come, then. I ain’t goanna dance with a guy a foot shorter than I am. He’s a sweet kid, but I ain’t goanna get laughed at just ‘cause he’s your friend.” The girl stormed off, and Bucky turned, thinking that at least Steve hadn’t heard that, only to see Steve’s crestfallen face behind him. He didn’t even say goodbye to his partner, he simply grabbed Steve by the arm and took him home.

The next date went a little better, with the girl at least being nice to Steve, but it was obvious who she would have preferred to be with. Most of the rest of their dates seemed to follow along the same lines, each one ending with Bucky feeling upset or dissatisfied with how the evening had turned out. He found that he did like dancing, but could never fully enjoy it knowing that Steve was having a miserable time. After a while, he stopped making Steve come, and he could tell from the expression on Steve’s face as he watched Bucky head out, that Steve was glad. Steve remained beneath the notice of most women, and Bucky acquired a reputation for being a ladies man. He was always courteous to his dates, never going farther than she wanted to go, and word spread that he was a gentleman. The funny thing was, he wasn’t sure he would have been so nice, if he hadn’t known Steve would disapprove.

 

Time wore on. Bucky still slept next to Steve, making sure his heart was still beating through the night. Steve still sang him awake on lazy weekend days. Bucky went on dates. Steve went through a never-ending cycle of colds. Bucky graduated high school. A year younger, Steve graduated a year later.

Bucky helped Steve get a full-time job at the pharmacy, while he got a full-time job down at the factory. He probably could have gotten the pharmacy job instead, but he wasn’t sure what else Steve could do, and he didn’t want him to try to work the docks or in a factory. That would have killed him for sure.

Steve spent most of his free time caring for his grandmother. Bucky hadn’t known she was alive, until she sent Steve a message saying she was sick, and wanted to see him. From the look on his face, Steve hadn’t known either. Later, he told Bucky he thought she must have been dead, or why else would she have let him get sent to the orphanage? It turned out she lived in a subsistence apartment, not far from where Steve had lived with his mother. Steve seemed to think it was his duty to take care of her, so Bucky didn’t say anything, though the idea of Steve owing her anything, when she let him get sent to the orphanage, burned a little. But if the weather was bad, Bucky made extra time in his day to take Steve there and back, until Steve moved in with her to be a live-in caretaker. Bucky hated that, had thought that they would get an apartment together after moving out of their parents’ house, but that was what Steve wanted, so Bucky let him have it.

Bucky spent most of his free time on dates, an endless string of girls, none of them ever the right one. None of them ever even close. He moved into his own apartment, and missed having Steve around at night. He didn’t sleep quite right, not being able to feel Steve’s pulse under his fingers. He didn’t wake up quite as well, if Steve wasn’t awake before him, singing him out of his dreams. He didn’t say anything to Steve, Steve had it hard enough, watching a woman he cared for waste away before his eyes.

They both made time for art classes. Steve, because he was good at it. Bucky, because he liked watching Steve be good at it. He knew he was never going to be as good as Steve, but it was nice to learn a little, and to watch Steve’s face as he mastered some new technique. Their teachers talked about portfolios, and a future in the art world, and Bucky knew that that was within easy reach for Steve, but that didn’t seem to be what he wanted. He didn’t know what he wanted, but that was ok, because neither did Bucky.

 

Steve’s grandmother died in 1940. At 22, Steve had been taking care of her for almost five years. Bucky and his parents went to the funeral, not because they knew her, but because she had been important to Steve. Bucky didn’t even know her name, or which side of Steve’s family she came from. But what he did know was that her death hit Steve hard.

After the funeral, Bucky couldn’t find Steve. He had offered to let Steve sleep in his apartment that night, knowing his friend wouldn’t want to be alone. Steve had accepted, so that was the first place Bucky looked. And there he was, waiting outside, with a face as sad as a long day.

“My folks wanted to give you a ride back from the cemetery,” Bucky said, hoping Steve could hear how worried he was.

“I know, sorry, I just kinda wanted to be alone.”

Bucky didn’t like that, not one bit. Nor did he like how Steve looked hunched in on himself, like he used to when they were kids and he’d been upset over something. “How was it?” he asked, just for something to say. He knew how it was, he’d been there.

“It was ok. She’s next to Dad.”

Ok, enough with the short answers that told him nothing. Steve was hurting, and there was at least one thing Bucky could do to make it better. “I was goanna ask, you know, we could pull out the couch, make a fort just like when we were kids,” Bucky moved the brick hiding the spare key to his apartment, and held it out to Steve. “It’ll be fun. All you’ll have to do is shine my shoes or something, maybe take out the trash.”

“Thanks, Buck,” Steve said, with that determined look on his face, the one that said ‘don’t pity me, I don’t need it,’ “but I can get by on my own.”

“Thing is, you don’t have to,” Bucky told him, reaching out to grab his shoulder. “I’m with you to the end of the line, pal.” And Steve smiled at him, like he always did, and took the key.

The apartment was small, one bedroom with a big bed, one table, two chairs, a toaster and a stove top, a small window that looked out onto a tiny plot of garden. It wasn’t much. It certainly wasn’t like his parents’ house. But it was theirs, and that was all that mattered.

 

It was around that time that things started going south overseas. Japan invaded China. Germany had a new leader, one that sounded like he might be trouble. Every news report from Europe looked like a war was going to start, and in September of 1939, it finally did. Germany invaded Poland, and lit off a powder keg. The news burst with headlines about the war, but the US kept well out of it. That was a relief to Steve and Bucky, who were dealing with a more personal crisis, close to home. Bucky’s mom was sick, and they knew she was dying.

Bucky found out on a winter day in 1940, when he went home for his weekly visit. Steve had work and couldn’t come, so Bucky had gone alone. He’d found his mother bedridden, his father beside himself with grief, and one word permeating the house like a toxic vapor. He’d fled as soon as he could, back to the little apartment he shared with Steve, where nobody was dying.

Steve got home from work late, and found Bucky still up, sitting at their little table examining one of Steve’s sketches of his mother by the light of a candle. He must have known instantly that something was wrong, because he was at Bucky’s side in a second. “Buck? What’s wrong?” he asked, and Bucky choked on a sob.

“It’s Mom,” he said, turning to bury his head in Steve’s shirt. “She’s- she’s-” he couldn’t get it out.

“Hey, hey, calm down. It’ll be alright. What’s wrong with her?” Bucky could feel Steve’s heart hammering in his chest, and the sound of it calmed him down a little. Enough to bite out one word.

“Cancer.”

“Fuck.” That was when it hit Bucky that it was really happening. Steve never swore, unless it was for a damn good reason. Hearing him now, Bucky couldn’t ignore the truth of the situation, and the words started to pour from him.

“The doc says she has a month, maybe more. Dad’s… I don’t think he’s going to live long without her. He’s going crazy, trying to take care of her, but there’s nothing he can do. She was hiding it. We don’t know how long. I think Dad knew a while ago, but they only decided to tell us this week. I think they realized they couldn’t hide it. She- god, Steve, she looks like a shadow. She’s so thin, I was afraid she was going to break when I hugged her. How come I never noticed before, huh? I see her every week, and she never said anything! And I never saw!”

“If she really didn’t want us to know, she would have gone to a lot of trouble to hide it. You know she never wanted us to worry about her. Hell, I go see them every week, same as you, and I never saw it either.”

“Steve, what am I goanna do?” Bucky asked, whishing he knew the answer. Steve only shook his head and held Bucky tighter. That night, Steve sang him to sleep like his mom had done when they were children.

 

Bucky and Steve moved back in with their parents. Steve cooked, Bucky cleaned, his dad cried, and his mom wasted away. Her cough sounded almost as bad as Steve’s usual winter cough, and suddenly she looked and felt even more fragile than Steve ever had. Whatever treatment the doctors were giving her weren’t working, and Bucky was powerless to help her.

One afternoon, he came down the hall to hear Steve in the room with his Mom.

“It’s going to be ok,” Steve was telling her. Bucky closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall. For anyone who didn’t know Steve, they would have thought he believed those words. But Bucky could hear the lie in his voice. “The new treatment will work, I’m sure.”

“No, Steve, honey,” his mom said, her voice barely more than a whisper. “I’m dying. You know it, same as me. Bucky and Dad, they don’t want to admit it, but they know it too.”

“No!” Without seeing him, Bucky knew Steve was shaking his head. “No, you aren’t going to die!”

“Sweetheart, you know it better than anyone. Everyone dies. It’s my time.”

“No! No, you’ve taken care of me, saved my life. If I can’t-!”

Bucky’s mom laughed. “Steve. You’ve given me joy in my life. My house is filled with your art. My son is happy because of you. I could ask for no more. But I want you to do one thing for me.”

“What is it?” Bucky considered slipping away, this felt like the kind of conversation he shouldn’t be hearing.

“Take care of him. After we’re gone- his father and I. Bucky is going to need you more than ever.”

“I promise,” said Steve, and Bucky could hear his sincerity. “Until the day I die, and beyond if that’s possible. I will take care of Bucky.”

“Bucky,” his mom called, and Bucky started. “Bucky, come in here. I know you’re out there.”

“How’d you know?” Bucky leaned against the open door.

“Call it a mother’s intuition,” she smiled at him. “You just heard me make Steve promise to take care of you. Now I have a promise I want you to make.”

“What is it, Ma?”

“I want you to take care of Steve. He’s seen too much death in his short life. He needs you now.” She locked eyes with Bucky, giving him the same determined stare Steve always did. Bucky nodded. This was not the time for jokes or glib answers.

“Of course, Ma. ‘Till the end of the line.”

 

Steve was singing to her, when she died. He and Bucky held her hands, while her husband cradled her in his lap. She was little more than a shadow stretched over bones.

“It’s time,” she told them. “Don’t cry for me, my boys. I’m going to a better place now.”

“Ma,” Bucky choked back a sob. He didn’t want to lose her.

“My sons, remember your promise. Take care of each other.”

“We will,” Steve promised her, and she smiled.

“Good. And, my love, try to find a reason to live without me, won’t you?”

“No promises,” Bucky’s dad whispered, and she raised the hand Bucky held to touch his face.

“There never were any, between us. I’ll be waiting for you beyond the sky.”

Steve sniffled, for once not sick- only sad. Their mother turned her head to look at him. “No Steve. Don’t cry.” She squeezed his hand. “Will you sing for me?”

Steve nodded.

“Good. You know what I want to hear. I love you three. Very much.” She closed her eyes.

Steve took a shaking breath, and began her favorite hymn. By the time it was over, she was gone.

_Amazing grace, how sweet the sound_

_That saved a wretch like me_

_I once was lost, but now I’m found_

_Was blind, but now I see_

 

The old adage goes that death always comes in threes. If they counted Steve’s grandmother as the first, and Bucky’s mom as the second, then they had to count his dad as the third. Mr. Barnes signed up for the war a week after his wife’s funeral. He left the house to Bucky and Steve, and went overseas. Two months later, they got a telegram. He’d been killed in action, saving another member of his squad from a grenade.

That left Bucky and Steve on their own, for the first time in Bucky’s life. It was… terrifying. But Steve was his anchor, and because Steve was there, it was easier for him to get through the death of his parents. Steve grieved too, curling up around Bucky at night and crying silently into his shoulder. They’d been his parents too, from the time he was eight years old. It was a comfort to Bucky, at least, having someone who knew what he was going through. Steve had been through it all before as a child, his father dead in the first world war, his mother of tuberculosis. At least this time, no one was going to send either of them to an orphanage. They had jobs, they had been supporting themselves for a while, so they didn’t have to worry about that. They had the house now, too. It felt empty, just the two of them, but at least they didn’t need to pay rent.

By the time the year changed, grief had given way to a kind of slow ache. Bucky became even more worried about losing Steve. He didn’t think he could take it if Steve left him too. But Steve wasn’t going anywhere. They were both in it, together, until the end of the line. That was their promise to each other, their promise to their mother, and it was that that kept Bucky going when he felt the grief threaten to overwhelm him.

Without having to pay rent, they had a little extra money. Steve had also gotten a promotion at work, a promotion that came with a pay raise. To celebrate, he bought them both season tickets to the Dodgers. Baseball had always been a thing with them. Bucky had played on his little league team, and later on the high school team. Steve couldn’t play because of his asthma, but he had always come to watch, and he had some great action sketches of Bucky at the bat. Now, they went to games together and sat in the stands, cheering their team. Bucky loved watching the game, loved the food and the drinks, loved the feel of Steve next to him, cheering with all his heart- even when his team was losing.

1941 was a year of magic for Bucky. Baseball games alternated with art classes for their free time. Steve didn’t get sicker than normal the whole year. He got a raise and a promotion at work. Girls were lining up to dance with him, and while he still felt a little guilty that Steve never got to dance, he enjoyed the attention. Steve started selling art to a small gallery in Brooklyn. Everything seemed to be looking up. And then, came December.

 

They were in art class when the announcement came. Steve and Bucky had been joking over when the model was ever going to take her robe off when another teacher slammed through the doors. “War! We’re at war!” he yelled, startling the whole class. Bucky’s brush slipped, ruining his ‘art’. Looking at it, he thought maybe it was actually an improvement.

“Sneak attack! They bombed the hell outta Pearl Harbor!” the teacher was yelling, and people from up and down the hall began to crowd around him. Steve grabbed Bucky’s arm.

“Come on, let’s go find a radio.”

Bucky didn’t want to remember the look on Steve’s face as they listened to the news, or the sound of his voice when he told Bucky he was going to sign up. He asked Bucky to train him, not knowing what Bucky knew- whoever trained him was only getting him ready for death. But in the end, he gave in. Every minute spent training Steve broke his heart a little more. Every time Steve thanked him, with that grateful look on his face, Bucky wanted to die. But he did it, because it was what Steve wanted, and because he knew, no matter how much Steve trained, he wasn’t going to get in. His asthma and heart trouble made sure of that, but Bucky couldn’t tell him that. He just kept his mouth shut, and gave Steve the hardest training regime he thought Steve would survive.

Going to the recruitment office was hard, but in a different way. He knew he was going to get in. No way they weren’t going to take him. But that meant that he would have to leave Steve behind. It was for the best, Steve would only get killed in war, while Bucky at least had a chance of coming home. In his heart, he knew it was the best possible outcome. But when he saw Steve’s crestfallen face, none of that mattered.

Things were a little strained between them, after that. Bucky was going to war, and Steve knew he didn’t think he would ever be able to join him. There was a little bit of resentment there, at least for a few days. But Steve never could hold a grudge, especially not against Bucky. In the end, he compiled a sketchbook filled with images of their life, and gave it to Bucky on the day he left for his basic training. It became Bucky’s most treasured possession, and the envy of many of the guys in his platoon. A beautiful, life-like set of images that encompassed the best of how Steve saw America.

 

Bucky came back from basic with his orders in hand. On the train in to Brooklyn, he ran into a pretty girl and her friend, and invited them both out to the Stark Expo and dancing. He hadn’t made Steve come on a double-date in years, but it was a good idea. Maybe this girl would be the one to keep Steve company after Bucky left, because god knew he didn’t have anyone else. Sure, Steve had other friends, but he didn’t let any of them in, the way he did Bucky. And maybe finding a girl would give Steve a reason to re-think his determination to join the war. Bucky stubbornly ignored the voice in the back of his head- the one that said that it was a damn fool idea, Steve would be miserable, and was this _really_ how he wanted to spend his last night in America?

He looked for Steve at home before anywhere else. He didn’t find him, but he did see a flyer for a new movie down at the cinema. Deciding it was as good a place as any to start looking, Bucky headed out again. It was a good thing he did, too. Just as he arrived at the cinema, he saw a flash of a coat-tail, and heard angry protests that sounded suspiciously like Steve. He followed the sound down a back alley, to where a big lug of a man was pounding on his friend. Steve tried to punch the guy but was blocked, the return punch knocking him onto the ground. Neither man saw Bucky, who moved in quick and quiet just like they’d taught him in training. He grabbed the guy by his jacket and hauled him away from Steve, sending him running with a parting blow and a kick to the backside. Then he frowned at where Steve was pulling himself upright.

“Sometimes I think you like getting punched,” he said, listening to Steve’s usual “I had him on the ropes.” And then he spotted the enlistment papers on the ground. Fear shot through him- had they finally accepted Steve? But, no, they hadn’t. He’d tried once more, and once more he had failed. Thank god. He chided Steve about it, but the reprimand died at the look on Steve’s face when he saw his uniform.

“You get your orders?” Steve asked. Bucky grinned at him.

“The 107th, Sargent James Barnes. Shipping out for England first thing tomorrow.” He couldn’t read Steve’s face. He looked… like he’d been kicked. Bucky hated that look, and not just because he couldn’t tell what Steve was thinking. He hated seeing Steve upset, and even more he hated being the cause of it. He had to do something to wipe it away. So he reached out and wrapped an arm around Steve’s shoulders, pulling his friend close to his side. “Come on, man. It’s my last night! Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“Why, where’re we going?” Steve asked in that suspicious ‘Bucky, what trouble have you gotten us into now’ voice.

Bucky handed him the newspaper. “The future.”

 

The girls were pretty, but Bucky knew he’d screwed up with one look at Steve’s face. He’d been interested in the expo, right up until that point. But when Bucky mentioned the girls, he’d gone quiet. After actually meeting the girls (Bucky thought maybe his date’s name was Lucy, or Laura, something that started with an ‘L’) Steve seemed to cheer up a little, chatting as they went around the exhibits. But it was clear, to Bucky at least, that Steve would rather have been anywhere else. Finally, after Stark’s flying car had failed, Bucky turned to Steve, ready to get them out of there. But Steve was gone.

Bucky found him where he knew he’d be- the recruitment office at the fair, standing in front of one of those mirror things that put your face in an image. Only the top half of Steve’s head was visible.

“Come on, you’re kinda missing the point of a double date. We’re taking the girls dancing.” Bucky wanted Steve to come with him. Couldn’t watch him try this again. Couldn’t see the shame and disappointment on his face one more time.

Steve looked away. “You go ahead. I’ll catch up to you.”

Frustration bubbled up in Bucky, and finally he had to say it, to try and persuade Steve not to keep trying. But Steve had always wanted to be a soldier. Bucky knew that now, just as he knew it was futile to keep trying. Steve couldn’t be a soldier. But Bucky could, and would, just for him.

One of the girls called out to them, interrupting the argument. Bucky let his shoulders slump, defeated. No words would convince Steve not to try again, and again, and again, until one day all the ‘no’s would break his spirit. Bucky backed away. It wasn’t the farewell he’d wanted, but it would have to do. He’d be sleeping in the barracks tonight, no going home to the bed he still shared with Steve, no waking up to Steve’s pulse under his fingers and Steve’s voice singing him awake.

“Don’t do anything stupid until I get back,” he said, and it was really more of a prayer. Steve smiled a little at him, and for once, everything felt okay again.

“How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you.”

This was wrong. He shouldn’t leave. He couldn’t leave. At least, not without a hug. Not without one more physical reassurance that Steve was there, and Steve would be alright. He walked the few steps back over to his friend.

“You’re a punk,” he said, the same thing he said to Steve all the time.

“Jerk,” Steve said, and that was how it was supposed to go. They pulled apart, too soon. Steve had that look on his face again, the one Bucky couldn’t read. “Be careful,” he said. Bucky nodded, and turned to go.

“Don’t win the war ‘till I get there!” Steve called after him. He turned, and gave his friend his very best military salute. And then he had to leave. Any longer, and he would cry. That night, and for many nights ahead of him, he would take out Steve’s sketchbook and look at it, the reminder of what he was fighting for. Because he wasn’t fighting for peace, or America, or even himself. No, Bucky was fighting for Steve.

 


End file.
